


Darkest Drabbles

by Gemleaf



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dark, Drabble Collection, Gen, Horror, Humor, I think I might be getting the hang of these tags hold on everyone, Sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23401687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemleaf/pseuds/Gemleaf
Summary: It's just a collection of drabbles for Darkest Dungeon. There's sad stuff, humor, dark scenarios, dark humor, etc... A bit of everything.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 23





	1. One Through Seven

1.

Sarmenti finished the last of his beer and pointed, a bit rudely, at the bandana, "And so what does Dismas keep under la stoffa?"

"He doesn't want to show us. There's a horrible scar under there, no doubt," Audrey took a drag of tobacco from her pipe, smoke billowing around her hands, "Oh, don't look at me like that, darling, I know the top half of your face is gorgeous."

Dismas sighed, "I... I just like to keep it on when I'm movin'."

"So when we return to the Hamlet...?" pressed Sarmenti.

He rolled his eyes, "Nah, I wear it all the time. Don't even brush my teeth."

"This reminds me - a few hours ago, I did say it was difficult to know if you were making a joke," Sarmenti rested his face in his palm, twirling around one of the bells on his hat.

"It's a, uh, what you call a vicious cycle," Dismas' eyes crinkled as though he were smiling, "Longer I go neglectin' to brush my teeth, the more I have to wear the bandana. At this point I'm bein' considerate to all of you. You're welcome," he rolled onto his side, away from the fire.

"Oh no, you will sleep with it?" Sarmenti giggled.

"Saves time."

Audrey laid back onto her mat, catching a glimpse of the stars through the thicket of trees, "Go on then, we're not judging you."

A pause. Just long enough to think he might've been serious.

Dismas pulled off the bandana and let if fall just over his shoulder. Safely within reach.

...

2.

The Three of Swords. Heartbreak. Grief. Guilt. Impending judgment. Josephine frowned and reached over the Tarot spread for Dr. Alhazred's palm, "The Three of Swords is an... interesting... card," she murmured, "It means you're undergoing some sort of internal change."

Josephine smiled. It was false but the Siren's song echoed all around them. No doubt they had a real fight tomorrow.

"I can't read your lifeline if your hand keeps shaking, Doctor."

...

3.

Junia flipped through her brown book, thumb brushing down the silver-plated spine, "Verse XIX-"

Dismas groaned.

"Let me finish, damn it," she snapped.

"Ooh, hard language. What d'ya think, Reynauld? She didn't take the Light's name in vain but I'm pretty good'n sure that counts as a frivolous use of Damnation."

Reynauld looked up and said nothing. The two had been butting heads all day and he didn't want anything to do with it.

"I'm trying to help you," Junia spat.

"Sorry to fuck up your soul quota, but ya can't and ya won't," Dismas sat in the shocked silence and knew he couldn't end it at that. It was getting pitch black. They weren't even half-way done with scouting the place, let alone sending every shambling corpse to the abyss. And Junia. Junia looked stricken. "Look... I'm... sorry. But ya don't even know the half of what I done. We're just not comin' from the same place."

"Everyone's a sinner," Junia shut her book, "Don't drink too much tonight. We'll need a steady pistol arm."

...

4.

The wound festered - under the bandage, Bigby's shoulder was swollen, inflamed, stinking.

As unusual as the man looked and smelled, Paracelsus was furious with herself for missing such obvious signs of infection. Even a second or third glance and she might've realized it soon enough to keep it from getting this awful. Somehow Bigby betrayed no pain or distress.

"On a scale of one to ten," Paracelsus gently prodded the skin near the scratch - just a surface level scratch, a graze of the skin, so mild at first examination! "How much does it hurt?"

Bigby didn't react. He kept staring at his hands, his reddened, scaly hands.

Paracelsus suspected nerve damage. They might have to turn back.

"It's agony," he said quietly.

"I actually have to cut into you now. Why didn't you say something?"

"Worry not. I won't die," Bigby folded his arms across his chest and leaned forward, stretching the skin around the cut, "It's what a creature such as I deserves."

Paracelcus readied her scalpel, "Infection doesn't pick people who deserve it," she sighed, "If you do, in fact, deserve it, it's only because you could've informed me it needed more attention. I even - I even asked you! You said it was fine!" The Doctor took a deep breath beneath her thick mask, "No. It's my fault. Even the mildest of wounds can fester. My job is to be aware of that. I'm sorry, Bigby."

"Don't apologize to me," he murmured.

"Well then, I'm sorry Bigby's flesh. Boudica, the whiskey, please?"

...

5.

Fergus had coarse fur. Not silky or soft or fluffy. Coarse and short. Still, Dr. Alhazred hesitantly scratched the hound behind the ears. "He's quite docile, Willam," he said quietly, "How can such a vicious animal be so polite?"

"That's all training," Willam absentmindedly took a paw into his hand - the dog snored.

"What is his nature then? To be docile? Or vicious?"

"Come on, you've been around a dog before. I mean, back home, there were dogs, right Doc?"

Alhazred paused, "They mostly roamed around looking for trash heaps to scavenge. Keeping them so close would be like... taking in a squirrel."

"Squirrels ain't so bad," Willam huffed.

"They carry diseases. Though... I suppose I wouldn't mind holding a tame squirrel," Alhazred was just about the relax when the dog snapped to attention, some noise causing his ears to flatten and his mouth to curl back, revealing the same sharp teeth that tore apart a giant spider the night before.

...

6.

"Alright, sweetheart, you're going to have to look at me," the shadows inched closer and closer yet Audrey didn't dare move her. She lit up another torch and drove it into the ground. Josephine wouldn't stop shaking. It made her wounds worse. "Alright, that's good - just like that. Now listen up."

Josephine's grip on Audrey's wrist faltered.

"Any minute now, and I mean it this time, Junia is going to get here. Junia. You know her. Our friend with the -" Audrey cursed and threw a dart at a tentacle creeping up towards Josephine's left arm, almost severed at the shoulder, "That magic light. She's gonna fix you right up, sweetheart."

"B-Barri-s-s...?"

"He'll be here, too," Audrey tightened the shawl protecting what was left of Josephine's arm, "Any minute now, sweetheart, any minute."

...

7.

Dismas stood in the doorway, arms folded, "Mornin'."

"Go away," Reynauld pulled the blanket up to his chin.

"Oh for fuck's sake, it's his goddamn funeral today," Dismas snapped, his hands rolled into trembling fists, "You _liked_ him."

Reynauld was silent.

Dismas huffed - he didn't both to draw back the curtains, "This is... it's... god I can't even put a word to it. It's almost been a week, a week, seven days in this..." he trailed off as he looked around, "Room? Feh. More like a closet," he kicked a pair of boots across the floor, "Aren't ya gettin' tired? Tired of sittin' here in the dark?"

No response.

"I was there too. And I..." he ran a hand over his face, "I can't go and do it without you. Everyone's gonna stop'n wonder where you been. What am I s'posed to say? You tell me, _Holy Warrior of Light_ , what I'm s'posed to say in your place."

For a moment, Dismas looked ready to pull the man out of bed himself.

Instead, Reynauld sat up. His hair was greasy, unkempt. "The moment before he died... when I held him in my arms..."

"What?"

"He said he could feel the darkness wrap into his soul. He said.."

"Dyin' men say lots of things, Reynauld! It doesn't mean shit! It's..." Dismas sighed. His voice was getting shaky, "All the more reason to go 'n mourn him, anyways. At least pour out a drink over the grave."

Another silence.

Dismas sat at the edge of the bed, "It's not your fault."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit note: Just switched up Paracelsus' gender and made some changes to the last drabble.


	2. Eight Through Fourteen

8.

Sarmenti watched her try to read her book a little bit away from the others, her crossbow set up against a tree. Completely focused and struggling. She whispered the words as she thumbed each page. Reading by moonlight didn't help. He took an unlit torch and sauntered over.

"Buona serata. Or should I say good night?" he took a seat in bed of moss next to her, "The others are asleep."

She tensed, bringing her book close to her chest as though someone would snatch it, "Can't sleep."

"What are you reading?" he asked.

"You're supposed to be on guard duty," Missandra shrugged, though the title on the spine betrayed something about the fantastic.

Sarmenti frowned and slid the unlit torch towards her, "Our journey is almost over. There is no need to strain your eyes."

...

9.

Junia collapsed into a chair. Sweat beaded her brow. The others went to rest and recover after they escaped from their ordeal in the ruins but her work had just begun. For ten hours, she and Paracelsus hovered over the bed changing bloodied sheets, bandages, applying salves and, of course, pleading for reconstructive light. No doubt without those prayers Josephine would've perished long before they carried her back to the Hamlet. Paracelsus had trouble thinking of the light pouring from the Vestal's hands as mere 'prayers' but tonight both were too exhausted to argue.

Junia started to cry.

Paracelsus drew back a little, not sure what to make of it.

The soft cry became an earth-shattering sob.

Paracelsus hesitantly reached over to pat her on the shoulder, mechanical but well-intentioned.

Junia took deep, ragged breaths, "I put her... the... the Light put... her... back together," her shoulders shook as she tried to gather her composure again, "She's going to keep her arm."

...

10.

The sound was getting to be too much. Rustling chains, ripping skin, grunting. Barristan stared deep into the fire. He wasn't going to look this time. Nothing was going to stop the man's church-sanctioned self-punishment.

It just seemed so unnatural.

Sarmenti cautiously plucked a few strings of the lute.

"Not now!" whispered Barristan - setting music to the sound of whipping made his stomach churn.

"Bah. There is nothing we can do. He is on the mission from Light above. The Light, the most heavenly, noble endorser of blood and torture," Sarmenti put his lute down.

The Leper peeled off his mask and sighed. As upsetting as Baldwin's stricken face could be, there was something comforting about him being kind to himself, "The wind... it's..."

"I have become ONE with SUFFERING! AHAHAHAHAHA!"

"Go ahead and play some music," Barristan stood up and tested the weight of his mace.

Sarmenti nodded, "This will not stop any time soon."

...

11.

Everything is a delicate balance. For example, the log across the stream bed, capable of carrying two on each end. Leaves that must fall at the right time, to allow the tree to become dormant. Rabbits in the meadows a few unculled litters away from starvation. So too must humanity...

Dr. Alhazred tossed the essay aside, grumbling, "Another aspiring Malthus."

He carefully picked it back up and smoothed it out over his desk. There was a single space for papers on a surface otherwise cluttered with candles, nameless idols and other trinkets. Finally. A reason to use the red ink hiding behind a bronze paperweight.

Someone knocked at his door and opened it moments after. Rude. It was Josephine - she was the only one who sought his company while being brazen enough to do such a thing.

"Is that an essay?"

"I was granted leave from the university for the semester but I still owe a few... favors," he sighed.

"Favors?" she grinned, "Someone blackmailing you, Doctor? Should I send the university an evil amulet?"

"If I wanted to do that, I could've done it years ago," Alhazred murmured.

Josephine shrugged, "Mind if I sit down?"

"Why not? You've already let yourself in," he glanced over his shoulder, "You're prepared for the expedition tomorrow?"

"I think I'll be alright. It's a tough group but they still need someone who has an eye for expensive things. Heh," she laughed nervously, "Maybe the dark ones are telling you it's a bad idea."

The color drained from his face, "Don't joke like that."

...

12.

"You should keep a close eye on me," Audrey smiled and bet a small stack of gold on the Queen of Diamonds, "I'm afraid women just don't have a moral compass."

Barristan's brow furrowed as he realized he had no competing card, "You can say that all you want but..."

Audrey frowned.

"Josephine won't stop talking about what you did for her," Barristan nodded to himself, even as he lost his play.

...

13.

Dismas furiously loaded gunpowder into his revolver. Rustle. Rustle. Rustle. It's in the trees. Leaking through the branches, sticking like sap. Coming closer. Crawling. A stench like no other. Red. Black. Blood. Smoke. Shuddering gel, reflective as the moon itself. A stray bullet.

The gun clicked. Jammed.

What cannot be undone can never be forgiven.

Reynauld grabbed him by the wrist.

You'll do it again.

"Dismas! This isn't a place to lie down!"

...

14.

Dismas was brought back to camp physically unharmed. He sat close to the fire, smoking his pipe. His eyes dimmed and watered without blinking. Hands clenched, fingernails into skin. No facial expression, though his posture, tight shoulders, folded arms, warned to stay away. He took in more and more tobacco, no steady releases of smoke, no pacing himself.

Junia had a mind to snatch his pipe away from him when he dropped it and doubled over, coughing.

"Well, what did you think was going to happen?" she asked mildly, heart still racing in anticipation. Though she'd never admit it, she was often afraid of him.

He turned and looked at her with bloodshot eyes.

"Should we go back?" Reynauld asked gently.

"We have one more fight," Dismas started stuffing his pipe again, "And then it'll be over."


	3. Fifteen Through Twenty

15.

The two sat under a benign oak. That crossbow was too heavy for her. Missandra, the Arbalest and proper owner, would've marched over to take it away had Boudica not stopped her. Instead, they watched Audrey fumble with the weapon from afar.

Boudica rested her chin in her hands, "Look at her. A warrior's spirit. Her ancestors must be proud."

Missandra held her breath. Though she never left her weapon loaded, there was something terrifying about watching someone else carry it. And yet. Amusing. "You don't think she'll try to load it, do you?"

Her arms wobbled, but Audrey eventually got the crossbow into a position resembling a proper carry. She nearly dropped it as she tried to adjust her hat.

"Her? Ah..." Boudica thought it over, "No. This is harmless... it'll be fine. Relax!"

Audrey aimed the unloaded crossbow at a bush.

"Boom. Target cleared. Rabbits confirmed dead," Missandra commented with a little smile.

Boudica choked on her own laughter.

Audrey was too absorbed in the crossbow to notice. She furtively reached towards the string.

Missandra scrambled to her feet.

...

16.

Near the crumpled heap of stone and shattered marble, the dog refused to lift his head in acknowledgment. His tail wagged.

"Fergus," Dr. Alhazred beckoned to the dog from across the chamber, "Boy. Come here," he clicked his tongue, tapping the floor. The stonework of the old manor shuddered as something forced its' way through the halls. "Fer-gus!"

A high pitched whine. Fergus' tail kept wagging.

The stained glass windows cracked. Alhazred shimmied towards the animal on his stomach - on his feet he'd surely be knocked violently to the floor by the tremors.

Alhazred reached up and grabbed the dog's collar.

Fergus cried out, howls fading into agonized bays. He lunged at the rubble, almost ripping Alhazred's shoulder out of its socket. Fergus strained to get near the familiar scent. All the while he would still glance back, as though asking for help. Another stone moved. An inch closer. In other circumstances... A glass-shattering aftershock. Shards of rose-glass rained over them. The dog was knocked off his paws.

"Shh, shh, shh," Alhazred pulled Fergus into his arms, "You will not like this, dog," he murmured.

From the shadows towards the other exit, a great coiled appendage stretched out and wrapped itself around them. Fergus panted himself into a wheeze, drooling, heart pounding. Alhazred pushed the dog's eyes into his chest, though there was no hiding the sensation of pure blackness against skin and fur, "No more deaths today."

...

17.

Reynauld's eyes flitted over the text, "Tardif, this is..." he paused, rereading the last line of the poem, "Interesting."

"So it's bad," the bounty-hunter didn't even look up from his drink.

"That's not what I said," Reynauld brought the paper closer to his face, "No. It's not bad. It's just different. Plenty of... artists... are doing work like this these days," he smoothed back his hair, "Tell you what. Do you have any other poems I could read?"

Tardif's eyes widened and he grabbed a napkin from the center of the table. Clicking a ball-point pen, he rapidly scribbled words. He looked back up at Reynauld within minutes. "Can you read it now...?"

Reynauld smiled sheepishly and finished the last of his wine, "Let's have a look."

I can't see through the blood  
dripping down my face.  
It's like sticky wine,  
bitter sweet.  
A chipped tooth, a gash  
in a man's fist.  
Everything hurts.  
No one gets the upper hand.

...

18.

Candles sprawled over the last available spaces in the room. In the dark, they flickered among the rare curio and textbooks like little stars. A great fire hazard. Still it felt so cold. Surrounded by his candles, Dr. Alhazred sat on the floor, eyes closed. Someone knocked and waited politely behind the door. He wanted to see someone and yet couldn't bear it. So he stayed silent for a few minutes. Eventually his visitor would go away.

Another knock.

"Doctor?"

He sighed, "Tread carefully. Come in."

Josephine had the good sense to push the door in slowly - she knew him and his penchant for candles well-enough.

"You're really upset about this, aren't you?" she asked bluntly as she stepped over some burning incense.

Dr. Alhazred drew his knees up to his chest, his eyes falling over her scar peaking just over the collarbone, "I left him behind."

She shook her head, "Alright, so it looked like a hopeless situation and you opted to save his dog. That's a good thing in my book. It's certainly a good thing to Willam. He's getting drunk and singing your praises as we speak. Literally singing, he's... pretty wasted."

"Willam would starve before he cuts even half of his dog's ration," Alhazred groaned, "He's a good man. And I took his dog and fled."

Josephine frowned, "You're agonizing over this for no reason," she knelt down, moving a few candles aside, "Do you want to know what I think?"

He looked back up.

"I think you value life. That's better than honor and it's certainly better than a few dusty antiques," she took his hands into her own, "Come outside with me. Better yet, come to the tavern. We're missing you tonight."

...

19.

The church sanctuary enveloped Baldwin in comforts. Pillows, incense and privacy. The Leper always waited until nightfall. He was careful to avoid disturbing the others. There was a ritual. Every few nights, when the laughter of the tavern faded into silence, he'd take his own incense and go alone to the church. But before he could do anything, light incense, pray at the altar or slip off his mask to look directly upon the Light... there was something important to be done. A duty.

Baldwin started with the pews. A layer of dust. Always, no matter how much he rubbed it away with fresh cloths, the dust would resettle as thick as before within night or two. After, he would find a broom and sweep. And so on, he would clean up the sanctuary before he dared to use it. That night, just as he started on the first church bench, someone pushed open the door. Baldwin turned.

Dismas froze, "You?!"

"The moon passes behind a cloud. Welcome, fellow pilgrim," Baldwin wiped down the slats between the cushions.

"I'm not a... It isn't... What are you doin'?" Dismas squinted at him, tilting his head.

"Performing service for the light."

Dismas raised an eyebrow, "Usually when a man says that these days he's about to kill something."

"A cloth wipes across wood. It kills the dust."

Dismas watched the man for a moment. Without another word, he started to clean, too.

...

20.

"Oh, I'm used to the questions, now," Amani rubbed the nub at her wrist, "I just... well... you might not condone this, but I tell a different story every time."

Barristan nodded knowingly, "I actually had three eyes until I went under the knife to correct it. Needless to say, something went wrong."

She smiled but couldn't hold it for long, "The questions don't disturb me. It's where the questions lead, what old roads they want me to retread. It's..." she sighed, "It's too shameful. That's why I can never tell anyone the truth."

His lips drew into a thin line.

...


	4. Twenty-One Through Twenty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get the Italian as correct as possible. Let me know if I made a mistake.

21.

It was the beginning of pale evening when rain started to fall above the thicket of trees they were traveling through. At first, all they had to inform them was the misted air. Then droplets hit their shoulders and heads, rolling onto coats and armor.

Dismas stopped in his tracks again.

Junia pulled up her hood and watched Dismas close his eyes. He was still for the moment - like the surface of a pool above a system of caves, welcoming swimmers to a watery grave. The wind sliced through the gaps of the tree branches. Ice cold. As the rain fell a little faster, it became apparent that his hair was getting a little long. Someone needed to give it a good trim.

"Is there a problem?" Reynauld whispered.

Junia snapped back to reality.

Dismas' hand hovered over his revolver, "Another set of steps."

...

22.

The table had become a lot quieter. Several glasses and a deck of playing cards with a few too many aces littered the beer-soaked table-cloth. Audrey snagged a little bit of tobacco from Dismas - sleeping soundly in the chair next to her. His tobacco was cheap but she wasn't brazen enough to complain. The Tavern was silent altogether. A few people were awake, yes, but they had retired to their own little spaces.

Josephine spun the jewel of a pendant in circles on the counter-top of the bar. Sarmenti nursed a glass of wine in a corner. Still drinking? Reynauld approached the table - clearly sober and about to drag Dismas away from the threat of people who would rifle through his things.

"You're up late, darling," Audrey released a ring of smoke.

Reynauld smiled politely but otherwise left her unacknowledged. He threw Dismas' arm around his shoulder and lifted him. Damned Crusader made it look easy. Dismas murmured something otherwise unintelligible about money.

"Go easy on him," Audrey's eyes glimmered, "He doesn't get to play cards very much anymore. I think he got a little carried away... anyways," she smiled, "He owes me."

Reynauld's eyes narrowed, "Oh, does he? Must've been an interesting game - what with the seven aces and all."

"Darling, those are his aces," Audrey laughed, "A bit unrefined, isn't it? Don't worry, I didn't hold that against him."

After all, poor Dismas was playing against a marked deck.

...

23.

Onions. It had to be onions. The aroma filled their little cove. Missandra's stomach growled - and she gravitated to the pot hung over the fire.

"It's not ready yet," Bigby cut a few cubes of bouillon.

Missandra grinned, the heat rising to her face, "That obvious?"

"We worked hard today. Of course you're hungry," he said mildly, dropping each cube into the broth.

"I didn't know you packed onions," she sat on a mostly dry rock.

Bigby turned away from her, focusing on the bubbling of the stew, "You... you don't have to talk to me. It's a privilege to be tolerated."

"Bigby..." she spoke and he tensed as though expecting to be stricken, "Why do you do that? Why talk about yourself that way?"

"The soup's almost done."

Missandra grimaced. Her appetite was gone.

...

24.

It pattered gently against the ruined greenhouse. Like static. A blanket over the world, a layer between lonely footfalls and hushed whispers. A pity. Audrey hated the rain. Still she smirked and tried to pretend she already knew how to play mahjong - she learned quickly enough. The fire burned nice and hot. Almost didn't feel necessary. Almost too much. Over-stimulation.

While Josephine pondered what to do with the Lotus tile, Audrey stared up at the ceiling again. The Jester tuned his lute. The greedy sounds of flames devouring firewood...

"Audrey?"

"Hm, sweetheart?"

"Do you think the Heir would miss this game...?" Josephine began sheepishly.

"Yes, it's stealing," Audrey yawned, "No, it won't be an issue unless we make it one. He's not going to have an eye out for the heirloom mahjong set."

Sarmenti raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Audrey returned a look of her own, something between a wink and a shrug.

After all, was it really stealing to take what wouldn't be missed? What would go unaccounted for otherwise? Maybe the Light accounted for abandoned trinkets. Underneath the desks in ancient studies. Wrapped around fingers in rigor mortis.

While the possibility of divine punishment never stopped her, she remembered that night sometimes. The first night she headed out to dig. It started storming while she pried open the coffin, turning the poorly dug ridges of the grave into slick mud. Six feet had never seemed that deep before.

A peal of thunder.

She came out on the other side unbothered by dug out graves, bloated bodies and drowning. Cool as a fucking cucumber. Somehow the only thing she feared...

The rainfall poured out over the greenhouse in sheets.

Josephine's tapped the board, "Your move."

"Sorry, little doves, but I think I'll retire for a while. Let me know if you see any walking corpses," she turned away just in time to hide her shaking hands.

...

25.

Hidden in a ripped up sofa, a cat introduced itself by lunging at the nearest ankle.

Tardif put his axe away and looked at it for a moment, "Must've been looking to cash out on a life."

It sank its teeth fruitlessly into his boot. The thing had the nerve to growl, blue eyes dilated against the torchlight.

"Don't hurt it!" Bigby said anxiously.

"Not gonna chop up a cat, fuck's sake," Tardif tested jerking away his boot - only to have the animal dig in his claws and cling, "Almost did. Looked like a spider."

Bigby got onto his knees, making kiss noises, "Come over here, Catty. Eas-y, eas-y..." as soon as his hand was in reach, their black-furred attacker swiped at him.

Tardif tried another step forward. The cat hissed and climbed halfway up his leg.

"No, no! Don't do that, Catty," Bigby tried to grab it again.

The cat scrambled up Tardif's back, eyes like saucers.

...

26.

"She just needs some time to calm down."

"It's a she now?" Tardif eyed the cat cautiously.

Bigby nodded, "Birdie."

Birdie was perched on Bigby's shoulders, almost coiled around his neck. Her tail flicked.

She hissed whenever Tardif looked at her.

...

27.

"Everyone feels that way, though," Junia laughed uneasily, "I didn't mean that I... It's not like..."

She'd already said too much. Her eyes fell to the floor in abject shame.

Sarmenti lowered his voice, "Oh, suora, are you happy?"

Junia swallowed hard and nodded, "It's a joy to serve the Light. Sometimes I... I just have struggles in my faith, as all do."

"But what you actually said was..." he sighed, "No, Junia. Not everyone wishes they'd fall asleep and never wake up."

She shook her head, "I'm very grateful. And... it's not every night. Sometimes I'm perfectly content."

"È cattivo. Content is not enough," Sarmenti tsked, "How many of us are alive because of you? And here you sit and suffer -"

"Life is suffering," Junia mouth contorted into a smile, "What matters is that the Light is served."


	5. Twenty-Eight Through Thirty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize now that I got Paracelsus' gender wrong. I'll be writing her as female from now on and might get around to editing the earlier chapters later on.

28.

Alhazred held his breath and unlocked the strongbox. A little glow peaked out shyly from the cracks. The flame of his lifeline. There were nights he'd let the skull rest in his hands, almost unaware of it as he catalogued trinkets with Josephine. And... sometimes he could scarcely bring himself to look at it. Last night the gaping sockets seemed to bore into him from his nightstand. What it accused him of, he wasn't sure. This wasn't the first time the skull left him unsettled. He had a procedure for it now. Into the strongbox. Out of sight.

The sunrise peered into his room and washed out the candle's unnatural glow. Alhazred thumbed what would have been the space between the eyes, many eons ago. Too quiet. Did even his tormentor's silence disturb him?

DOUBTING YOURSELF, MORTAL? READY TO HAVE YOUR SOUL DEVOURED?

That's better.

Someone knocked. Three raps against the door, each heavier than the last. Impatient.

"Good morning, Professor!" Barristan boomed, "If you don't have an excuse you'd accept from one of your students, I don't want to hear it," he waited exactly three seconds before poking his head in, clearly irritated but full of energy, "Oh, you're awake. Good. Everyone's ready to leave."

"I'm late?"

"You missed the entire pre-embarkment strategy meeting," Barristan scoffed but couldn't hold a dour expression for long, "Granted, it was technically optional and no one attended but me. What were you doing up here?"

Alhazred glanced at the skull and candle-flame and back at the aging man in his armor, "I... ah... overslept."

...

29.

Crowded and jovial, the sounds of people laughing, cheering and singing twisted into a nonsensical roar. For the first time in years, the villagers set up their festival tents under the night sky. The barricade was reinforced and guarded. Mercenaries blended in with the commoners. Fireworks whistled through the air in a volley of sparks, crackling blue and gold.

Far away from the busy tents, Willam patrolled the thick and ramshackle walls around the Hamlet. He sniffed. Smoke. Always made it harder for Fergus to catch a scent.

Willam and his dog didn't exactly sign up for guard duty, but someone had to try to keep it as safe as the villagers imagined it was.

Bolts of red showered across the sky. Booming green fire sent tremors in his bones.

Fireworks. A bad idea.

Fergus whined.

Shadows rose and fell on the fringes of the woods, like living things.

...

30.

Slivers of wood littered the forest floor. A nick, a slice - a little set of arms. A well-placed poke produced something that looked like the spaces between feet. Was there fine art to the crude shapes? No, not at all. Man or bear? Dog or horse? It didn't matter - Dismas never kept the figures. He'd look at them, hold them, and toss each one into the fire. They were only good for kindling, after all.

This chunk of wood was being difficult. Usually, he wouldn't hesitate to throw a half-finished 'product' into the flames but that night he couldn't be satisfied with yet another bear-man or horse-dog. Dismas was feeling slightly ambitious. A duck didn't seem too difficult. Every part of a duck flowed together, there weren't separate chunks to worry about. It'd all be a matter of whittling the right spots.

Maybe it would have been easy, if Dismas wasn't attempting to carve figures with a fucking dirk knife. A literal deadly weapon meant to... make.. things dead... blast! The duck's head was sliced off. He could still do something with the rest of the failed carving. Maybe another horse-dog.

"What's that?" Reynauld, apparently awake, peered over Dismas' shoulder without warning.

Slice.

Through the wooden torso, into Dismas' hand.

...

31.

"So you make... little animals..." Reynauld's brow furrowed as he poured canteen water over the gash. Not ideal, but better than trusting the water of the Weald.

Dismas huffed.

The bleeding slowed but Reynauld bandaged the hand regardless. The last thing they needed was fungal spores getting into a wound. He released the hand, "And you make these things with your dirk. A big stabbing knife."

"It stays good'n sharp, especially after I do the upkeep."

Reynauld picked up what was left of the failed duck/horse/dog. A moment of searching in the grass and he found what would have been the duck's head. "Did I ruin your project?"

Dismas was caught off-guard by how fast the heat rose to his face, "I don't need yer help ruinin' these things. It... uh... started as a duck, then it turned to a dog. And... well.. you got the pounce on me."

"Maybe the Light willed it. Can't think of any other scenario where I'd be able to sneak up on you," Reynauld stared at the flames. He leaned slightly into Dismas' shoulder, perhaps unaware he was doing it at all.

...

32.

Birdie trembled violently in her pile of blankets. Though her eyes were dilated, it seemed that she wasn't aware of her surroundings. She writhed. Nothing, not the warmth of the hearth or the privacy of her box, seemed to bring her any comfort. Bigby stroked her fur. She growled softly. It was getting late.

"It didn't seem so bad a couple hours ago," he murmured.

Tardif sighed. Not even a day after Bigby brought it back to the Hamlet and the thing was clearly diseased. Seemed like an odd thing to get attached to, an odd thing to wake Tardif up in the middle of the night over. Not like he could do anything about it, anyways.

"That animal..."

"She's ill, isn't she?" Bigby closed his eyes.

"She's dying."

Bigby nodded, "Probably."

Birdie spat up foam and blood.

Tardif crossed his arms, "It could go on like this for days."

Bigby scooped the cat up into his arms, cradling her close to his chest. The danger of being scratched or bitten had long passed. "Poor, friendless thing."

"Most animals only get a hole to die in at the end, if they even have the energy to burrow."

It quickly became clear that there was nothing comforting in those words. Bigby swallowed hard.

"These things happen," Tardif was taken aback, "Animals get sick."

"I should know that better than anyone," Bigby whispered.

After a minute of silence, Tardif stooped down to Bigby's level, hesitantly reaching out to stroke the dying cat, "You made her comfortable. Now we can make sure she doesn't suffer."

...

33.

"Alright, ladies," Barristan cheerfully counted heads, "Miss Audrey, how are we doing on daggers?"

Audrey seemed to struggle a little under the weight of her pack but she smiled, nonetheless, "Sharpened, darling. I have a full set."

He continued, "Madame Doctor? Any tinctures missing, bandages out of place?"

Paracelsus rolled her eyes - the move was obvious even under her mask, "I have everything I need to keep you all alive, as long as we don't do anything stupid. There's also the matter of my poisons. With any luck we can thin the herd before we raise a single blow."

"Right," Barristan tugged at his mustache as he considered it, "The Warrens don't exactly have good air circulation. Did everyone bring their masks?"

Silence.

"That's alright, because I brought the masks," he patted his large satchel.

"Miss Josephine," Barristan paused, "Everything in good shape today? You're certain you're up to the task?"

Josephine squinted in the sun, "Not planning on nearly losing an arm again, if that's what you're wondering."

"That's the spirit, soldier," he clapped Josephine on the shoulder and his demeanor changed, less cheerful than before, "We will mark every room we go through today. Every door will be thoroughly inspected for sabotage, every pile of rubble tested for stability. No one is getting separated from the group this time. The cost is too great."

...


	6. Thirty-Four Through Thirty-Nine

34.

In streaks of blue and white, the sky hung clean like laundered silks. A gentle breeze drifted downhill and rustled their coats. The hillside caught the best of the sunlight, warm on their backs. Sparkling dewdrops clinged to brambles. If the rain could only bring life to dead grass, it would have been a truly beautiful morning. The moisture made their boots slick. It couldn't be denied that for a moment, in a place where seasons blended together in the darkness, it felt like Summer. The hilltop was a perfect place to lay down a blanket and listen to the wrens sing. The clouds were so light. Benign. Soothing.

They had gathered together as though someone were scheduled to speak. For minutes, the motley group took turns looking at each other in this strained silence, this uneasy peace. Most of them didn't have suitable clothes for the occasion. It seemed like poor planning, in hindsight. Did they come to carry out this quest expecting no one would die? No one they knew?

Junia finally cleared her throat, "Would anyone like to say something?"

She glanced at Reynauld. He was pale and tightly wrapped in a dark cloak, eyes trained at the ground.

Maybe it was a bad idea for him to come. He looked ill.

Junia opened up her book and pinned down a page with her thumb. The wind picked up again. They all looked at her now. She had spent the last few nights rehearsing, up late, composing her speech even while out on expedition. She volunteered for this. This was supposed to be meaningful.

More silence.

"I..." she had the speech perfectly memorized.

No words came out.

...

35.

The silence of the great cathedral rushed back in. Where moments ago forms struggled in the dark, there were bodies, rubble, and four exhausted silhouettes. Alive, for now. It'd be a while before the dust completely settled. Audrey coughed. She wiped the blood dripping from her nose. Nothing helped. She scowled, "This coat was handmade in Naples. I don't think I'll get the stains out this time."

Usually, Junia would check everyone for injuries, but something else occupied her attention this time. Her mace was embedded in the back of a huge bandit. She struggled to wrench it free. Stumbling backward into a pillar from misplaced effort, she huffed, "Light's mercy... Tardif! Can you help me, here?"

"Hmph. _Women_." Tardif grabbed the handle and pulled at the weapon. Just a little effort, that's all it needed. A little elbow grease. He braced himself, one foot stabilizing the corpse and ripped the mace up. Well. He tried. Even the massive bandit was jostled upward by the force, the mace locked into the flesh. "What the fuck?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Junia bristled, "Having trouble? I was certain I could rely on your superior upper body strength. Maybe you should practice opening more jars."

"You... you _somehow_ got this embedded in bone, I'm sure..." Tardif grunted and tried again. It budged, slightly. "This... is why... I use my fists..." with a mighty effort he succeeded in losing his stance and hitting the same pillar harder, "We'll have to leave it."

"That mace is a holy relic!"

Staunching the flow of her nosebleed behind a handkerchief, Audrey carefully stepped over a couple bodies, "Why are we fighting, children?"

...

36.

The chisels and tiny blades resembled surgical tools. Audrey even resembled a surgeon - focused, hands steady. Her concern, however, was not with saving lives. A wide incision, her own special brew of corrosive compound... Audrey held her breath.

Junia and Tardif were standing too close.

"You might want to take a step back, dears, there's a reason I wear gloves," Audrey twisted the handle, testing the 'give' of the mace, "Damn. How'd you manage to drive this in so deep?"

"It's _mostly_ momentum," Junia clarified quickly

Tardif crossed his arms and keeping a close eye on the door they barricaded, "This was your old work, then."

"Not sure what you mean," Audrey avoided cutting into the fungus, peeling back a layer of skin. She applied corrosive compound, "Sometimes a ring wouldn't want to slip off a finger and..." she shrugged, trailing off, "Anyways, a few years back an old Count got killed in a duel. Old-fashioned and controversial, you understand, but entirely legal in their little backwater. The family buried him with the knife that did him in out of spite. That knife was a pretty thing. Silver handle, emerald pommel... needless to say, it was a waste."

"You dug it up," Tardif said flatly.

The mace was nearly loose.

"If _someone_ did go after that knife... they likely had to do something like this."

A final pull and it was free.

...

37.

Boudica scowled and forced herself into an upright position, "The fire of my ancestors flows through my veins. It is a sign."

"You have spotted fever," Paracelsus rolled her eyes and handed Boudica a damp rag.

"This is not fever," Boudica wiped away the sweat beading her forehead, "I would know if I have fever."

"Uh-huh."

Boudica's elbows wobbled. She sank back into the bedroll, "Not sick."

"Yes sick," Paracelsus sighed, "Very sick."

A shadow in the periphery, Sarmenti slipped back into their campsite hollow, a section hidden away from the rest of the cove by corals. He gingerly laid himself onto his own bedroll - he wasn't bleeding, but he would bruise badly after being bashed by that shield, "The fishmen do not know it, but they have us surrounded."

"I will... hold them back..." Boudica shivered, "You two escape."

Paracelsus took a deep breath, opting to ignore what Boudica said entirely, "They don't know where we are yet, then."

"We have two options," Sarmenti pulled off his mask, "Either we maneuver before they're all aware of our location. Or... we wait until _they_ move. We pray they do not find our hole in the meantime. No matter what, è finita."

...

38.

The table was laiden with a massive bottle of whiskey, two good vintages of wine, a basket of crispy chicken, and a loaf of steaming bread.

Josephine squished herself between an armrest of a bench and Dr. Alhazred, pushing him into Willam. Willam was pressed into Sarmenti. Sarmenti stood up.

"Sorry!" Josephine giggled, "I thought there was room!"

Meanwhile, Fergus attempted to get at the chicken under the guise of asking for affection. He pressed his nose into Dismas' lap before placing one paw on the chair... Dismas cut most of the meat away from the thigh and slipped it under the table, "You're the bravest sonofabitch I know, mutt."

Fergus devoured the chicken, nearly nibbling a bit of Dismas' hand.

Dismas shooed him away, "Go somewhere else if you're gonna just swallow it like that."

Fergus whined but he quickly went back to circling for scraps.

"Everyone," Willam stood up, pushing up against the table. He looked very serious, "Everyone, we need to stop and think of the fallen."

"A moment of silence for Wilbur," Dr. Alhazred nodded gravely.

Sarmenti, now sitting on an arm-rest, played a couple funerary chords on his lute.

"Poor little Wilbur," Josephine uncorked the red wine and poured herself a very full glass, almost overflowing.

Dismas helped himself to a shot of whiskey, "A drink for Wilbur, everyone?"

"A chicken-wing for Wilbur," Willam agreed.

Josephine drank a little too quickly. She spilled wine onto the table.

It wasn't that funny, but the timing was just right. Everyone laughed.

...

39.

A cascade of gold light fell across the pews. It was a little bit chilly inside the church. Reynauld rubbed his arms. Half-asleep, he approached the shrine at the back with an offering of incense and his ceremonial sword. He knelt down, his sword pointed at the floor.

"...May the light guide me and shelter me as the Lamb and the Shepherd... may I... I... Bring justice to the..." Reynauld's eyes drooped and he leaned forward on the hilt, pushing the dull blade between wooden slats.

"...The Light protect us... Amen," Reynauld fumbled with a match. Eventually the incense lit up. He stood back up, rubbing his temples.

The silence echoing back at him was palpable.

"My apologies, Divine Light," he sighed, "I blaspheme in my exhaustion."

Reynauld collapsed into the first pew, cradling his head in his hands. The room was spinning.

He needed to start sleeping at night.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I ever posted on AO3 so if there's something I should have added onto my tags or otherwise marked, let me know! I'm trying to get this new format of publishing right. I feel like T is an alright rating for now.


End file.
